


South Park Devotees

by jewboykahl



Category: South Park
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon Compliant, Fluff, High School, M/M, One Shot, These two are adorable so!, literally just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27985890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewboykahl/pseuds/jewboykahl
Summary: It doesn't make sense at all for Firkle to be so enamored with Ike; he hates everyone in his hometown of South Park, including the town itself, and Ike was a well-known, well-liked, gifted child. When either fate or cruel irony pairs them together for the science fair, he falls even hard.
Relationships: Ike Broflovski/Firkle Smith
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	South Park Devotees

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to my lovely gfs ambercreek95 and thelotusflower for encouraging me to post this <3

Why South Park decided to have their science fair during sophomore year instead of middle school like every other school in America was a mystery to all its residents. If being in the butt-fuck of nowhere and infested with underpants stealing gnomes and aliens wasn't enough to make the town substantially peculiar and out-of-touch, then doing this useless project three years late and thus perpetuating their underwhelming graduation rate and low grading average certainly was. Or, that's how Firkle saw it, anyway. 

He was dreading the beginning of high school for countless reasons, but the science fair was on the top of his hate-list as he strode into fourth period for the first time. Mr. Allen's CCR Biology. The room was already littered with twelve different types of conformist assholes. While Firkle had never expected his classmates to suddenly transform into something acceptable over the summer, he was always disappointed at the lack of a single person he could tolerate. This proved to be even more disappointing considering his three best friends had graduated then. 

Deflecting the usual cough of the word "faggot" from a Justin Bieber wannabe with his middle finger, Firkle routinely stalked to the back corner of the room and rooted himself to the desk farthest away from everyone. A few glances at the cringe-worthy inspirational posters plastered to the walls told him that this teacher was more of the same: a robotic pseudo liberal that complained about teachers unions while spewing whatever dry crap they told him too. The mediocrity was nauseating, but at least calling out the bullshit as it presented itself was a moderately entertaining activity. 

Firkle rolled his eyes through Mr. Allen's snooze-tastic introduction to the course, fantasizing about cigarettes. Why he even bothered to show up to his classes that morning was beyond him - but the consideration of his new squad-less status reminded him. He had absolutely nothing better to do. The corners of his black painted lips turned downwards, vaguely depressed at the absence of Pete, Henrietta, and Michael. 

When Mr. Balding Turd finally stopped droning on about the same expectations they had been expecting since Firkle was known as "kindergoth", the classroom returned the steady buzz of peers discussing their conformity. Firkle slid his slender index finger into the pocket of his purposefully ripped black jeans to press a button on his iPod that increased the volume of The Dead Milkmen pumping through his ears. Just as he was about to let his head fall backwards in attempts to nap, a certain stupid something caught his attention.

Of course, that stupid something was Ike Broflovski. The raven-haired Canadian Jewish was the youngest member of their grade by almost two years. His story was that they pushed him through kindergarten at the ripe age of three years old because he was some kind of genius kid. How they determined that at a time when all he could say was "Cookie monster" and some incoherent mumbles had always been a mystery to Firkle, but he never asked. As time went on and Ike's vocabulary increased it was plain as the cute nose on his face that he was incredibly gifted and meant for bigger things than then white trash mountain town he lived in. He only began to slightly admire Ike after his years of standing up to Fillmore Anderson—who happened to be Firkle's head oppressor. It was a very slight admiration, however. 

Ike consistently countered the bully's taunting with sarcastic quips and sassy remarks. Those honey eyes blazed fearlessly every time they challenged the big, bad boy of their graduating class, which is what created Firkle's slight interest in the dark haired wonder boy. Not to mention his boyish good looks and direct connection to Eric Cartman—whom Firkle had always oddly liked. 

But, Ike never looked back and Firkle. And if he did, it was brief and it held no significance. Ike's stares and glances were accidence. Firkle's stares and glances, on the other hand, were analyzations, and whether or not he would ever admit it to anyone, the creation of brief fantasies about the young prodigy. 

Firkle jumped out of his studded Doc Marten's when the obnoxious bell blared through the small school unexpectedly. His icy blue eyes watched a suitable amount of unbearable fellow sophomores exit the room before he deemed it worthy of himself getting in and out untouched. As he sauntered off to his next pointless class he had three things weighing on his mind; what the fuck he would do his science fair project on, when the fuck he was going to get his nicotine fix, and Ike Broflovski. 

_

"Alright, class, settle down," Mr. Allen announced, clapping his hands together to obtain the group of rowdy teenager's attention. Reluctantly, the students drifted to the respective seats behind the slick black science tables and continued their conversations in hushed tones. Mr. Allen was somewhat satisfied with the reduction of noise and began to explain their first assignment, "We're gonna get started on the science fair next week, which gives you and your partner the weekend to decide what experiment you will be conducting. First, you're going to put together a research paper including a relevant thesis and your procedure. Then, you will document the actual experiment with a data chart that I'll give you. Lastly, everyone will present their experiment to the class." 

Firkle felt the urge to toss his breakfast increasingly more as the teacher went on. He dug his black fingernails into his cheek and sighed quietly. He was strongly considering setting fire to the classroom in order to avoid the project completely. 

The noirette boy zoned out and let his mind wander to anything but the seventh layer of Hell that masqueraded itself as high school. Come to think—the seventh layer of Hell actually seeker preferable to Firkle. Maybe there'd be less phonies everywhere. Or at least more dead ones. 

However, his attention was drawn back to the teacher when he heard something very unappealing, "I've already put you all with partners. Yes, I know, it's unfair and it's the end of the world. You'll get over it." Mr. Allen grumbled at the instant protests of his students. He lifted a clipboard to his face and squinted at his class roster. "I randomly chose all of these, so, don't complain. Karen and Flora will be partners..." 

Firkle's stomach twisted unpleasantly as he awaited his fate. His cynicism predicted a meathead jock as his partner and expected nothing but, "Do the project yourself, faggot!". That would be so typical. 

But, that is not what the universe decided to do with him. In fact, it was much worse than he could have ever imagined. His jaw slackened and his shadowed eyes went wide.  _ Of fucking course.  _

Mr. Allen continued to list off the groups, "Ike and Firkle..." 

_

"Ike Broflovski?" Pete asked for confirmation after a drag on his cigarette. After graduating from elementary school, South Park's goth squad migrated their designated hang out spot to the alley between Jimbo's Guns and Skeeter's Bar. It was a generally secluded section of their tiny town where few adults scolded them for smoking. 

Firkle sighed deeply and flicked the ash from the end of his rolled up tobacco stick. "Yeah. Wonder boy." 

Pete made an expression that was something like a smirk. He flicked the dark fringe that impeded his eyesight. The portion that was previously red was recently dyed an interesting combination of blue and purple. "That's freaking hilarious." 

"How?" Firkle scoffed, glaring daggers at his eighteen year-old companion. 

Pete dipped his head in the younger boy's direction, showing that it was a smug smile creeping across his pale face. "Don't even deny the gay little crush you have on Canadian Einstein." 

Firkle rolled his eyes so hard he was afraid they would get stuck in the back of his head. "Fuck off."

“Just be glad you didn’t have to be in the same grade as his conformist brother,” Pete groaned at the mere thought of the overachieving redhead that was a part of the single most infuriating group of friend’s that South Park had ever known. “Kyle made me want to sandpaper my face off.” 

Firkle scrunched his tiny nose. “The fact that Ike isn’t as unbearable as his brother doesn’t mean I have a crush on him.” 

“No, but the fifty shades of red you turn every time you so much as glance in his direction does.” Pete stated with a stoic expression, replacing the cigarette on his mouth and sucking in the toxic smoke. 

The younger boy opened his mouth to protest, but interrupted himself by testing the temperature of his cheek with the back of his free hand. He indeed felt flushed skin against his cold fingers. “Shut up.” 

Pete flicked his dark eyes to Firkle, who was blushing even harder after it had been called out. He let out a half-chuckle and pinched the smaller boy’s reddened cheek. “Look at you, pining over a freakin’ Broflovski.” 

“Don’t touch me.” Firkle moaned and forcefully pushed Pete’s hand away. “I’m not pining over anything. I don’t even care enough about him to think he’s cute. He’s just there, and he’s less stupid than everyone else. That’s it.” 

“Whatever you say, twerp. But, if you did have a crush on him, it doesn’t really matter.” Pete told him, attempting to be as casual about it as possible. During his own shitty high school experience, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t learned a thing or two about people and life in general. Of course, he hadn’t learned much in an academic sense, considering that he barely graduated, but there was a lot about the world that he discovered in those three years of imminent torture. “Dating is a conformist concept, but all the Disney bred dipshits that become the corporal douchebags that produce more Disney bred dipshits to forever perpetuate the shit cycle of life don’t really practice  _ love _ . It’s just their tradition—you get through school, you get through college, you marry someone, you have a kid. They’re just filling in the blanks. But, if you find someone you’re not ‘supposed’ to be with and actually like them, then it’s like a fuck you to society, too.” 

Firkle would have never thought Pete would be one to advocate for love or relationships, but he didn’t disregard his friend’s meaning. He did imagine that he and Ike in a relationship would be unheard of from both spectrums. But, it wasn’t really about that for Firkle. He just didn’t hate Ike as much as he hated everyone else and thought about kissing him sometimes. 

“I’m really starting to miss Michael’s lean.” Pete sighed after a brief period of silent reflection. “College is fucking dumb.” 

Firkle narrowed his eyes at Pete and gave him a sly simper. “Awe, do you miss your boyfriend?” 

Pete shot him a glare, but decided he deserved a bit of payback for calling out Firkle’s crush. “Cram it with walnuts, tiny.” 

“Hey, fuck the conformists, right?” Firkle justified his teasing with a small chuckle. 

Pete shared the small noise and leaned his head back against the brick wall to slowly let out a stream of smoke. “Yeah. Fuck everything.” 

_

“Hey, Firkle!” A familiar voice called out from behind the tiny goth boy. The acknowledgement chilled him straight to the bones and make him stop in his tracks. He was rigid in the center of a South Park High hallway, waiting very unpleasantly for none other than Ike Broflovski to catch up with him. “I didn’t—“ 

“Hey, Fartkle!” One of Ike’s friends snarled as they passed. Another leaned down to collide shoulders with his tiny frame harshly, sending him stumbling forward and his textbook and binder clattering against the linoleum floor. 

“Fartkle? We’re back to that immature bullcrap, are we?” Firkle seethed back instantly, groaning and flicking his black fridge into its position over his eye. 

“Fuck off, you guys.” Ike scoffed at his retreating friends, who were still too busy laughing at their own stupidity to care about both noirettes’ reaction to their stunt. The Broflovski boy bent down and scooped up Firkle’s things that were unfairly knocked from his grasp. He briefly admired the neat handwriting scribed in black Sharpie on the grey plastic of his binder—most likely song lyrics or depressing movie quotes. “Sorry about them, dude. They can be real assholes.” 

“No freaking way.” Firkle grumbled in response. He gingerly removed his things from Ike’s hold and pressed them to his chest. Light blue eyes looked absolutely anywhere but up at Ike’s handsome face, terrified to reveal the blush that was crossing his makeup caked face. 

“Right,” Ike muttered awkwardly before returning to his upbeat persona. “As I was saying, I didn’t get a chance to catch up with you Friday about our science project. You mind if we talk about it over lunch today?” 

Firkle’s stomach erupted with butterflies—a feeling that was  _ way  _ too orthodox for his liking. He bit down on his lip and shrugged, chin touching his shoulder to avoid Ike’s warm brown eyes. “Yeah, whatever.” 

“Cool. I’ll find you then.” Ike promised before striding off towards class, leaving the goth boy a bumbling mess with a stupid conformist crush. 

_

As lunch drew closer and closer, Firkle became less and less calm. It as a rarity for his anxiety to present itself for any situation, but he supposed that having to spend it with a Broflovski for the first time was as good a reason as any to feel uncertain. Perhaps Ike would turn out to be as big of a douchebag as his older brother. Or, worse yet; would think Firkle was as big of a douchebag as everyone else seemed to. 

“Hey, dude.” Ike greeted brightly as Firkle approached his vacant lunch table with cation. The goth boy allowed himself a small amount of time to admire Ike’s inviting smile across his adorable face. He was clad in a grey pullover that read Harvard University across the chest and his natural black hair (something that Firkle had always been envious of considering his regular trips to the hair salon in order to correct his blonde roots) was an attractive, shaggy mess atop his head. 

Firkle merely nodded in response and plopped down across from him. A long, black nail went between his teeth as his nervous blue gaze fluttered around the bustling cafeteria. The Canadian felt slightly uncomfortable with Firkle’s unresponsiveness, but at the end of it all, he didn’t really expect much more from a coveted member of the goth squad. He pushed out a quiet huff and tapped the pads of his fingers against the lunch table. “So… do you already hate Mr. Allen as much as I do?” 

Firkle’s interest was piqued, and his mouth’s muscles were tempted to create a small smile. The intuitive prediction that Ike would share his ability to detect bullshit was proving to be accurate. “His fucking voice makes me want to pull a Van Goh.” 

Ike chuckled in agreement, “Of all the monotone shitheads, he’s the monotonest and the shithead-iest. But, I have a few project ideas that’ll make our lives easier.” 

This boy was speaking Firkle’s language. He peered across the table and watched the younger boy tap on his iPhone6. He then turned the screen to show Firkle a picture of a simple light-bulb project. “For this one, basically all we would have to do is write up a report of Thomas Edison, connect a few wires in front of the class, and bam. Done.” 

Firkle cocked an eyebrow, "Isn't that a little under your level, genius?"

Ike smirked and rolled his eyes. "Being smart and being a high achiever are two completely different things. I don't give a fuck what my grade is as long as my mom is off my case." 

"And I just don't give a fuck about my grades. This is a good idea." Firkle told him, agreeing to the light-bulb proposition. 

“Sweet.” Ike grinned and shut his phone off. “If you wanna knock the research paper out sooner than later, we should hang out after school sometime soon.” 

The suggestion alone made Firkle’s stomach twist unpleasantly with nerves. He cleared his throat, “Uh, okay…” 

Ike smirked, sensing his discomfort. “I’m not a rapist, promise. Or a conformist.” 

Firkle had to laugh at that. It was a short laugh, and he immediately covered his painted lips carefully. His eyes were wide at the realization that he had let himself make that stupid noise in the presence of the one person’s opinion that actually mattered. 

Ike gave him a grin that was a combination of amazed and amused. “That was so cute.” 

“Shut up.” Firkle spat back and immediately stood. “We can go to my house Thursday. My mom works all day. As long as you never call me cute again.” 

Ike nodded and rested his chin in his fist, “Duly noted, cu _tie_.” 

The goth boy puffed out a long groan and spun on his heels to beat a hasty retreat. As soon as he was sure nobody could watch his expression, he brightened up at the words Ike had said. His heart began to do this weird, unfamiliar palpitating thing, and his smile was bigger than it had been in years. Fucking conformist feelings…

_

The plan between the two boys was that Ike would go over to Firkle’s at promptly four o’clock on Thursday, at the request of the Broflovski boy to make time for his ‘video game club’ meet. Firkle asked no questions. He decided he had enough time to shower and reapply his gothic attire by the time Ike showed up. But, he was mistaken. 

Just as he was shaking his black fringe dry with a towel, the doorbell rang downstairs. Panic instantly shot throughout him. Still unclothed, Firkle rushed to his iPhone that sat on the porcelain sink. He clicked it open to find not only that it was 4:04 in the afternoon, but that he had a few new messages from  _ Ike B. _ that indicated that he was on his way. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath. 

Faster than he ever had before, Firkle pulled on his boxers, tight black jeans, and only a black t-shirt. He glanced at himself in the mirror and growled at the lack of eyeliner and lipstick, but there was zero time to apply such things to his plain face. Hair still damp, he flew downstairs to pull the door open. It revealed his science partner, who was also known as Ike. 

It was then that Firkle took a notice to their height difference. Despite the fact that he was nearly two years in Ike’s senior, he was a good five inches shorter than him. It was annoying, but cute at the same time. Ike was clad in a blue sweat shirt and baggy black jeans. He granted Firkle a surprised expression, “Wow, do I have the right house?” 

Firkle knew he was blushing at Ike’s acknowledgement of his non-made-up face. He dragged the door fully ajar and turned his back. “Come in.” 

Ike obliged and carefully pushed the door shut. He glanced around the quaint home, half surprised that the walls were not painted black and decorated with dead animal carcasses. Instead, it vaguely resembled his own home. Above the couch was a large family portrait of Firkle and his mother and older sister. He looked so out of place with two happy looking blonde women in his full-fledge goth attire. Ike found it kind of adorable, however. 

Firkle lead Ike into a small room beside the kitchen where there fully stalked bookshelves and a small wooden desk. He clicked on his computer’s monitor and waited for the screen to load. In the meantime, he combed his long bang over one eye and dreaded that he had no time to apply his excessive black make-up. Ike noticed this, and leaned into him as he claimed the seat beside him, “You look okay, y’know? You don’t need all that make-up.”

Firkle tossed his unhidden blue eyes around their sockets, “Fuck you, Liam Payne. I don’t wear it to impress anyone.”

“Woah, I’m not saying that,” Ike chuckled, tossing his hands up in mock submission. “I was gonna say you’re goth enough without it. But, whatever helps you keep that brooding manta.”

Firkle knit his well-maintained eyebrows together and wiggled the computer mouse as the screen came to life. He chose not to reply on the ground that he couldn’t decide if he was offended or impressed. Instead he logged into his profile and clicked open the Google Chrome browser. Firkle reluctantly peered over at the other boy and felt his heart do that stupid fluttering thing when he saw that he was already staring. “What exactly are we doing?”

“Piecing together some bullshit for our research paper,” Ike explained and leaned over to reach the keyboard. One of his arms hooked over Firkle’s, causing both of their stomachs to bubble with that adolescent buzz of lustful angst. Ike stifled his smile and pounded his fingertips against a few keys. “I was thinking maybe a quick paragraph about how the widespread use of the lightbulb began, a longer thing about Edison, then some crappy commentary about why it was important and improved our living standards.” 

“Sounds awful.” Firkle grumbled in order to fulfil his  _ brooding mantra _ . However, he was still holding his breath and nearly sweating over the physical contact he shared with his crush. 

Ike’s agreeing smile remained against his lips as he listlessly wafted through Wikipedia for some quick information. After a few minutes of silence, he decided to strike up a dialogue with the quiet goth boy. “Something just occurred to me… How did you know to call me Liam Payne?” 

Firkle raised one eyebrow at him. “What?” 

“You thought I was spewing some kind of you-don’t-need-eyeshadow-to-be-beautiful shit, and you called me Liam Payne. Because in What Makes You Beautiful, Liam sings  _ don’t need make-up to cover up _ .” Ike extrapolated accusingly. 

“Your point?” Firkle fought back, though he knew who the victor of this discussion was. 

“You totally have a boner for One Direction.” 

The older boy huffed and flicked pushed his dark fringe back into place with his fingers. “Please. All those French pieces of shit do is make me want to vomit all over their synchronized concerts and coordinated boating outfits.” 

“I can see straight through you, Firkle.” Ike taunted good-naturedly. “Who was it? Louis, Niall?”

Firkle let out a long sigh and rested his read against his elbow. War flashbacks of being forced to watch endless YouTube videos about this boyband that his sister was obsessed with ran through his head. He recalled that the only thing that got him through the horrible pop music and fangirling was that one insanely hot member, “Zayn.” 

“Damn,” Ike hissed at his false predictions. “I at least figured it wouldn’t be Harry. He seems too mainstream for you.” 

“They’re all mainstream posers. But, Zayn’s a hot mainstream poser. Other than his face I can’t stand any part of One Direction.” Firkle explained himself as he watched Ike scroll through Thomas Edison’s biography. 

Ike clicked his tongue, “Wanna know a secret about Eric Cartman?” 

The name sparked an immediate interest in Firkle. A secret about the town infamous troublemaker that caused more problems than Hitler before he even reached the age of ten—also known as Firkle’s role model. “Yeah.” 

“He’s a Harry stan.” Ike revealed, glancing back at Firkle with humor in his eyes, but a stone-cold expression on his lips. “I’m not joking at all. He was talking to Kyle about it when he was drunk one time.” 

“I can’t decide it that’s hilarious or disappointing;” Firkle responded to the new information, trying hard to stifle yet another idiotic laugh, but failing. Of course, he earned that same, irritatingly endearing look from Ike. 

It was a wide smile and shining eyes from the other boy, “God, your laugh is so fucking cute. It’s too rare.” 

Firkle quickly curled back into his shell, although the remains of a smile still threated his pink lips. “I told you not to call me cute. Get out of my house.” 

“Unless you want to do this whole research thing by yourself, I think you’re just going to have to put up with me pointing out the blatantly obvious.” Ike shrugged before averting his attention back to the work at hand. Firkle could physically feel his cheeks glowing. 

“I’m not cute.” He murmured. A few moments of watching over Ike’s shoulder as he scanned the cursor along the blocks of dry information. He decided that Ike was a much faster reader than he was, and also that he didn’t give a rat’s ass about light-bulbs. “What about you?” he asked with little clarification. 

“What about me?” Ike rephrased the inquiry and turned to give the smaller boy his full and undivided attention. 

Firkle faltered under the pressure of his inviting honey brown stare and hand to wonder his stare down to his jean-clad thigh. He began mindlessly picking at the loose material of the frayed wholes and continued, “Which One Erection member makes your pants tight?” 

Ike simpered at the word-choice before answering with, “I used to like Louis a lot.” 

“Wasn’t he the one that never sang?” 

“Yup. He was actually pretty hilarious, though. Like, someone I’d genuinely want to hang out with.” Ike said, Another period of quietness ensued before Firkle lifted his gaze to Ike’s face. When their eyes locked in an intent stare, he felt trapped—in a good way. Being forced to stare straight in the shockingly beautiful pair of eyes that Ike owned was like being caged in a feeling of warmth and security and you had no choice to drop your sadness for four seconds and feel special. “Besides,” Ike went on to say in a lower tone than before. “I have a thing for boys with blue eyes.” 

Firkle cursed the very day Ike Broflovski was conceived for making him such a blushing mess. Quickly, he turned away from Ike’s piercing stare and trained himself back into the fine art of never smiling. . He muttered, "My eyes are black."

"You wish." Ike chuckled. 

"I do." Firkle admitted. He glanced back to find that Ike had yet to look away again. He groaned and covered his hand face with his fingers. "Why are you like this?" 

Ike cocked an eyebrow. "Like what?" 

"Like... I don't know. Nice to me." 

Ike shrugged, his grin never faltering. "Well, I don't know how it works in the goth community, but I'm nice to people I like." 

"Why do you like me? You don't even know me." Firkle's heart was punching against his ribcage as he held Ike's gaze. This boy was an enigma, unlike any other person Firkle had come across. Why would he have any interest in his tragic, alternative self? 

"I don't have to know your life story to like you. You're interesting, smart, clever, and different. And really cute." Ike told him, full of conviction. "You can deny liking me if you want, but I'm too lazy to play games." 

Firkle was rendered speechless. Nobody had ever been interest in him before. Nobody had ever been attracted to him before. Yet, here Ike Broflovski was - of all people. He looked right past the intense demeanor and all black clothing he put on and saw adjectives such as clever and smart and even cute. 

Firkle bit away a smile and shook his head. He let himself reel in closer to Ike, their shoulders brushing. Perhaps he was not comfortable enough to be as straight forward as Ike, but initiating physical contact with anyone wad a huge feat for him. Ike noticed and returned the gesture by pressing their thighs together. 

"Let's get to work, wonder boy." The goth boy told Ike. 

Ike side-glanced at him questioningly, "Wonder boy?" 

Firkle nodded. Smiled. "Wonder boy." 

_

Needless to explain, two weeks later Ike and Firkle had still yet to complete their research paper. There were a couple more out of school visits to Firkle's home, but nothing was accomplished. It was more or less Ike trying to peel back as many layers that Firkle put up to keep everyone out of his emotional range as possible. And he managed to do so - they laughed together, gossiped together, and conducted a detailed plan on how they would set the school on fire one day as to no longer do any homework. 

It was one of those rare warm days in South Park, and much to Firkle's chagrin, their gym teacher decided to force the students to have class outside while he attempted to figure out his new iPhone. Physical education was the single biggest waste of time, energy, and the tax payer's money in Firkle's opinion. He refused to participate in any activity, especially changing. 

"Hey." Ike breathed out while plopping down beside Firkle. The goth boy was slightly started by his sudden presence beside him, but quickly recovered and glanced over at him with smiling eyes. Ike's thick, black hair was caked to his forehead with sweat from shooting the basketball around with a few friends. "What's up?" 

"You're looking at it." Firkle responded, pulling an headphone from his ear. 

"Exciting shit. I would invite you to come play basket ball will me, but you'd chip your nail polish." he teased, reaching over and gingerly squeezing Firkle's hand.

Firkle rolled his eyes, "Fuck off, Broflovski." 

"I joke, I joke," Ike laughed. "Something tells me you wouldn't get along with those guys, anyways. You're too good for them." 

Firkle let himself smile then as he gazed out at the sweaty jocks throwing around the bouncy orange ball. "Fuck all those Nike whores. I want dislocate their legs and arms and leave them in the middle of the desert with a bucket of water ten feet away." 

Ike nodded. "Dark. I like it. But, I'd rather watch you slowly snip off their ballsacks with safety scissors and make them swallow it." The goth boy covered his lips to muffle his laughter. Grinning at the sound, Ike leaned in and softly pried the boney hand away from Firkle's lips. "Don't do that, your laugh is adorable." 

Firkle blushed and growled to compensate for the school-girl reaction to his crush complimenting him. "Don't touch me, I hate you." 

"No you don't, 'cause I make you laugh." Ike argued assuredly and took both of Firkle's tiny hands in his. He ran his thumb along his knuckles. "Y'know, laughter is the best medicine for never ending sorrow." 

Firkle watch Ike's digit smoothly glide across his pale skin. "Life in general is never ending sorrow. Especially being forced into this dilapidated building full of neo-Nazi hicks." 

"I can't argue with the second part. Everyone in South Park is either fucking racist or an unauthentic ultraliberal hippie."

Firkle sighed in agreement. "I fucking hate it here. I can't wait until I can't wait until I move as far away as possible. Or die." 

Ike frowned at the last option. He tugged on Firkle's fingers and said, "You can just come live in Canada with me. Everyone's just strictly pussies there." 

Firkle smirked, making the mistake of glancing up at Ike's face. He found those enticing brown eyes gaping at him adoringly. This made his chest flutter even harder than the soft skin-to-skin contact of their hands. "As long as I can be a mortician and we live in an abandoned mansion." 

"Done." Ike promised. The corner of his lips pulled up as they stared into one another's eyes. He felt his fair share of butterflies erupting in his stomach. "Anything for you." 

"Quit." Firkle gushed and dropped his head down. One of his hands was removed from Ike's to cover his flushed face. 

The younger boy chuckled softly while pressing their sides together and cupping the side of Firkle's face. He angled his chin up towards him and felt a new wave of stomach knots when he saw a cheesy smile spreading Firkle's black lips. "You are so fucking perfect, why do you insist on hiding that smile?" 

"Because it's stupid, like you." Firkle groaned and fought tooth and nail against his happy expression. He was never happy, and it seemed stupid to start at the age of sixteen. He simultaneously wished Ike would go away and let him be miserable, and for Ike to pull him into his arms and never leave him again. 

"Neither of those things are true." Ike disagreed. Before he could provide evidence for his counter claim, their teacher blew his obnoxious whistle to signify the end of the period. Their fellow peers jogged and walked back into the building in their cliques and they stood as well. "What class are you headed to?" 

"History." Firkle groaned. 

"Gross." Ike scrunched his nose at his least favorite subject. They both stopped when they reach the bottom of the bleachers, hands still entangled. They had sort of forgotten that they remained touching; it felt so natural. "Well, my class is on the other side of the school, so this is where I leave you." 

"Finally." Firkle retorted jokingly.

Ike rolled his eyes. "You'll miss me when I'm gone, asshole. Be nice to me or I won't pay for your mortuary training when we run away." he declared as he leaned down and entered Firkle's personal space again. The shorter goth boy's eyes went as wide as the eyeliner would allow when he felt a pair of unfairly soft lips against his cheek. It was a quick kiss, but it felt like an eternity. His life was in slow motion for that brief, blissful two second window of time. He dreaded when Ike pulled away and granted him that ridiculous, awful smile that he was starting to fall for. "Later, sunshine." 

"Don't call me that." Was all Firkle had the willpower to utter in response as they both veered off in opposite directions. He cupped a hand over his mouth to shield his giddy giggle. He cursed himself for producing the girly noise, but he didn't care, because Ike was right. He had missed him already. 

_

"I just don't get what you see in him," Tricia told her friend after he explained his plan to eventually ask his crush to be his boyfriend. "That guy's a total asshole." 

Ike rolled his eyes and jumped to Firkle's defense. "He's really not. He's just goth so people automatically assume that. He's actually really funny and chill." 

Karen weighed in on the issue, "Firkle is a little dark... But, I think you two are pretty cute together." 

"Thank you!" Ike exclaimed. " _One_ of my best friend's supports me." 

The trio of teenagers had indeed been inseparable for as long as their brother had been before them. Despite the various social groups and other friends they had acquired along the path to life, they always found time to spend with one another and only truly trusted each other to always be there when a shoulder to cry on or a leg up was needed. 

Tricia rolled her eyes. "I just think Firkle's a douche. Sue me." 

"You two are actually pretty similar," Ike pointed out. He loved the look on his ginger friend's face that warned him he was about to get punched in the balls. "You both hate school, people, the world, and are devoted pessimists." 

"Then fucking date me instead, Ike." Tricia scoffed and shook her head at his ridiculous notion. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you." Ike smirked and waggled his eyebrows. 

Tricia rose her middle finger at him and stared ahead. "Karen would." 

Ike barked a laugh as the little brunette sighed heavily, "Okay, I got over my crush on Ike in the seventh grade. Can we please let it go?" 

"Are you over it, though, baby?" Ike asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and ignoring Tricia's 'slut' comment. 

Karen rose a challenging eyebrow. "Leave me alone unless you want to get your ass kicked by Mysterion." 

"Yeah, hard pass," Ike decided and unwound his arm from the McCormick girl's neck. "Kenny is kinda terrifying."

"I could take him." Tricia nodded. 

Ike and Karen shared a laugh before the noirette's attention returned to the original topic. "What the hell would a good first date be for a goth kid?" 

Tricia shrugged, "I don't know, he hates everything. Besides you, apparently, 

Ike smiled triumphantly before glancing at Karen, who provided some suggestions, "You could take him to a horror movie! Or, to get some coffee. Of, I dunno... To sacrifice some virgins." 

"He'd definitely be happy with that." Tricia snorted. 

The boy narrowed his eyes. "Y'know, I'm not gonna argue because he probably would think it's funny, but still shut the fuck up. Maybe I could just skip right to making love down by the fire." 

"Gross." Tricia scrunched her nose at the idea. 

"Don't be a homophobe." 

"I can't, my brother's married to a dude." Tricia sighed. She cringed at the thought of Craig and Tweek making love down by the fire as well. 

"My goal is to be this generations Creek." he stated with a thoughtful grin. "What would mine and Firkle's ship name be?" 

"Ikle!" Karen answered proudly. "That's adorable!" 

"I'm fucking leaving." Tricia grumbled before standing up off the bench the three previously shared and heading away from Stark's Pond. She left her other two friends in hysterics. 

Ike wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye, "I love how pissed off she gets. It's fucking great." 

"It is." Karen agreed but swiftly changed the topic back. "So, in a more polite and fully supportive manner, what do you like about Firkle?" 

Ike couldn't help but smile at the opportunity to confess his feelings for his crush - something he could only discuss with the rare individual that was Karen McCormick. He shrugged, "I just... He gets me. And I get him. I just feel this sort of inexplicable bond. It's kind of like a challenge to learn new things about him and watch him come out of his shell." 

Karen made a small squealing sound. "That's so sweet! I bet he feels the same way about you. I don't think anyone but you has ever made him laugh." 

Ike raised his eyebrows. "I am pretty fuckin' awesome. But, I mostly just love to hear his laugh. He's so tiny and cute." 

The brunette grinned and patted her friend between his shoulder blades. "I'm really happy you're finding someone besides us that doesn't piss you off. You deserve a boyfriend." 

"Thanks, Karen. So do you. But, he's not gonna be as great as my future boyfriend." Ike shrugged with a smirk. 

"At least he'll never get mistake for a girl because of his lipstick." Karen shot back sassily. 

Ike narrowed his eyes. "Touché, McCormick. Touché." 

_

In what seemed like such a short amount of time, all the classes’ science fair projects were due. They were allotted copious amounts of time in class to decorate their display boards, finalize their research papers, and complete their data charts. Luckily for them, Ike’s older brother had come down to visit for a weekend and ended up putting together the entire lightbulb for him. Having a perfectionist as a sibling was an incredible asset from time to time. 

When first period rolled around and Ike had yet to show up, Firkle began to get a bit worried. They were the second group that had to present their projects to the entire class. He sworn to all that was unholy that if Ike decided to skip the one day they were supposed to talk in front of people that he was going to shove his foot up his ass. 

“Mr. Allen, can I go to the bathroom?” Firkle asked the teacher in a small voice as the first group set up to present. He gave a permissive nod before saying, “Be back in time to present. You’re just gonna go ahead and go without Ike.”

Firkle swallowed the lump in his throat and grabbed a pass from his desk. He stalked away and dialed Ike’s number on the way to the bathroom. It rang a few times before he heard a groggy, “Hello?” on the other line. 

“Dude, where the fuck are you?” Firkle demanded, pacing the small, disgusting lavatory. “We have to present in, like, ten minutes.” 

“Did you not get my texts?” Ike asked. 

“Evidently not.” 

The younger boy sighed, “I’m sorry, Firkle. I’ve been puking my guts out on and off. I could barely even stand up to get to the toilet.” 

Firkle frowned both at the thought of Ike being ill and the realization that he would have to do it by himself. He cried, “I can’t do this by myself, though! I can barely even ask for the bathroom pass without sounding like a total pussy. I can’t talk in front of a people. That’s your area.” 

“You can do it, Firkle, just try not to freak out. I’d be there if I could, I promise. But you can totally do this. Just get up there, explain the project, turn on the bulb, and sit back down.” 

“I don’t even know how to turn it on; I wasn’t paying attention when Kyle told us.” Firkle groaned, shaking his leg nervously. 

“Just connect the blue and red wires. It’s totally idiot proof.” 

“Ike, I really can’t do this…” 

“Yes, you can. You’re fucking amazing and you can so pull this off. I know people suck, but don’t think about it. Just think about how you’ll only have to deal with dead ones and me when we move to Canada. Okay?” 

Ike’s words effectively soothed Firkle, making him smile despite himself. He pushed out a deep breath and nodded. “Fine. But I’m still slitting your throat for not being here.” 

“I would expect nothing less.” Ike said. “Knock ‘em dead, sunshine.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“There’s that charm that everyone will love.” 

Firkle rolled his eyes and disconnected the call. He bit his lip so that idiotic grin would stay in control. He peered up at himself in the mirror and saw the unfamiliar giddy expression that invaded his usually depressed face. He replayed Ike’s words in his mind over and over again before heading back to the classroom. 

By the time he returned, the first group was wrapping up. Mr. Allen peered over at him and said, “Firkle, you’re up.” 

The goth boy felt his cheeks burn, listening to a few snickers and scoffs arise from his peers. Stupid conformists. He stormed to the side of the classroom that his and Ike’s light-bulb and poster-board was stored and carried it back to the front of the room. His hands were shaky as he put the board upright and set the demonstration in front of it. He glanced over at his teacher for the right to speak, and then back out into the sea of faces that he hated with a burning passion. But, he hated nothing more than attention. He turned his head to read the information crookedly pasted on the cardboard, “Uh, Ike and I did our report on electric currents…” 

“So… um, for this project we put together some wires or something to make electricity happen somehow.” Firkle’s head was pounding from the anxiety. A few kids were amused by him, but he could see a few kids taking pictures of him and indubitably making him their Snapchat stories captioned with some variation of the word ‘faggot’. This angered him more so than offended him. He huffed and continued speaking in his inherently soft voice, “I don’t really care about this project and neither do any of you, so, I’m just gonna skip to where I turn this light on.” 

There were a few muffled laughs from the peanut gallery as Firkle leaned down to find the blue and red wires on the circular lightbulb contraption that Kyle had more or less constructed himself. As he was letting the bullies make him feel small and livid, he railed his train of thought back to the task at him and the person who explained it to him. Ike Broflovski—the wonder boy that, for some reason, genuinely liked Firkle for _Firkle_. That meant a lot more to the goth boy than any of the asshole’s mocking him over social media’s opinions ever would. 

Firkle felt warm and satisfied on the inside, but he didn’t let it show. He simply forced the two wires together and let there be light. Mr. Allen appeared mildly impressed as he scanned over their research paper and considered the physical end result. “Very nice, Firkle.” 

The small boy nodded and hastily removed his project from the table and returned to his seat. He let the breath that he had been holding fall from his lips. His jitters began to subside as he took his seat. The calmness was not due to the fact that he was done publicly speaking, however—but because his brain was continuing to focus on Ike. Ike and his soft eyes, kind smile, messy hair, and perfect personality. Ike and his ability to overlook Firkle’s sense of fashion and music choice to find that there was a real person underneath the gothic veil. Ike who likes Firkle, darkness, depression, despair and all. 

And Firkle liked Ike just the same. 

_

The next day Ike thankfully recovered from his stomach bug and his first priority was to apologize to Firkle in person even though he had already done so a million times over the phone. He met the him in front of his locker and gave him a sheepish smile. “Hey, Firkle.” 

“Hey, Ike.” He responded uncharacteristically kindly. Ike immediately picked up on the lightness of his mood. Not that he was complaining, but it was quite odd and out of place. 

“I’m really sorry about not being able to present with you. I figured it would be better than tossing my cookies all over you.” Ike told him as he watched him shove his black Converse book-bag into the small compartment the school provided for him. 

Firkle lifted his gaze to Ike’s face. He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s fine… your little pep talk helped me out, anyway. It totally blowed, but I didn’t care.” 

Ike smiled. “You’re welcome, I think?” 

Firkle nodded and let out a small laugh. His eyes fell as he prepared to confess something—something that he had been turning over in his mind since fourth period the day prior. He began to say, “I… I want to tell you something, but I’m really not good with words that aren’t about death, so…” 

Ike’s heart sped up when he heard the words. He grinned. “I’ll bear with you.” 

With a huff, Firkle forced himself to look up again and lock gazes with Ike. His insides turned to mush and he was sure he had begun to develop a rosy tinge to his skin. His voice fell to a murmur, “I like you a lot…” 

Ike raised one eyebrow and let his beam shine all across his face. “And he _finally_ admits it.” 

“Don’t be a cocky dick. I’ll take it back.” Firkle warned, keeping the eye contact when he normally wouldn’t. Improvements were being made all around. 

“Fine. As long as I get to kiss you now.” Ike proposed, already leaning in closer to Firkle. He propped himself up with one arm on the lockers beside Firkle’s head. “I’ve come close a few times, but I saved it for this moment.”

Firkle’s eyes went wide, the thought of his first kiss equally daunting and tempting. All he really desired to do was lunge forward and attach himself to Ike for the rest of their lives, but he was too shy to even agree to kiss Ike. He mumbled, “You’ll get lipstick all over you.” 

“I could not possibly care less.” Ike announced before taking the leap of faith and crashing his mouth against Firkle’s. Chills ignited their spines and waves of pleasure traveled through their beings. Firkle let out a shaky gasp and instinctively reached up to grab a fistful of Ike’s t-shirt for leverage. Both boys squeezed their eyelids together firmly and became deeply immersed in the amazing feeling of finally kissing one another after a three month flirtationship. Nothing could measure up to it. Not even finally leaving this fucked up world through music or death. It was leaving this fucked up world through kissing Ike that was incomparably to anything else. 

Firkle slowly pulled away after hearing a few voices call out homophobic slurs from down the hallway. Ike did not so much as shoot a glare in their vicinity; far too engrossed by all things Firkle. When the smaller goth boy peered back at Ike’s face he giggled at the smudge of black he left on his soft, sweet lips. He tentatively placed his hand on Ike’s cheek and began rubbing the make-up away with his thumb. All this while Ike stared—dumbfounded—at Firkle. 

“You’re fucking amazing.” Ike finally concluded. 

Firkle rolled his eyes and let a full-fledged smile creep across his face. He didn’t feel the need to hide it this time. “Stop complimenting me.” 

“Never,” Ike promised, snaking an arm around Firkle’s waist and peppering chaste kisses against his soft cheek. “Because you need to know how gorgeous and sweet and perfect you are.” 

“You’re describing a fucking Disney prince, and those don’t exist.” Firkle protested, winding his arms around Ike’s shoulders. 

Ike reeled back to look down at Firkle. There was so much adoration and interest in his eyes—something that Firkle never received from anywhere else. It was such a rewarding feeling. “So, what you’re trying to tell me is that you’re not a Disney prince? After all this time, I never would have guessed with all the  _ black _ eyeshadow and  _ black _ button downs and  _ black _ jeans and  _ black _ shoes and  _ black _ hair—“ 

“We fucking get it.” Firkle interrupted. 

“Would you like it better if I called you beautiful prince of darkness?”

“Worse.” 

“Sexy overlord of despair?” 

“You’re really reaching here.” 

Ike chuckled, his stare focusing in on Firkle’s eyes like the lens of a high definition camera. “How about if I just called you my boyfriend?” 

Firkle’s heart swelled with the foreign feeling on contentment he had a love-hate relationship with. He gave it a few seconds of thought and shrugged, “Fine. Being gay is pretty nonconformist.” 

“Fuck yes,” Ike cheered and pulled his partner into a tight hug. They both felt a sense of relief and completion on one another’s arms. The younger boy posed an inquiry, “Can we piss off the posers at lunch by making out in front of them?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” Firkle said in a sardonic tone, but the way he hugged Ike tighter told him that he was all for that idea. 

Ike stole a few more eager kisses from Firkle’s lips and did not stress out about the lipstick smudges nearly as much as he did. As they parted ways when class was about to start, Firkle ducked into the bathroom to fix his dark make-up. He pulled out the charcoal black lipstick from his front pocket and traced it over both of his lips while staring in the mirror. The task proved to be much difficult than usual, because he could not stop smiling long enough to apply it correctly. All thanks to his illogical, fairytale love life that was starting to blossom. 

_

_ Ten years later… _

“Happy Anniversary, babe.” A low whisper against his ear scared the ever-loving shit out of him. He swiftly turned his head to see his annoying husband was looming behind the couch, purposefully startling him half towards a coma. 

Holding his chest and scowling at the cackling man behind the couch, Firkle grumbled, “You fucking shitthead.” 

“I love you, too.” Ike laughed and stole a quick kiss before hoping over the sofa and falling into place beside him. “Can you believe it’s been ten whole years of you putting up with my shit?”

“No, I really can’t.” Firkle growled, curling up into Ike’s lap despite his annoyance towards him. He sighed happily at the familiar warmth his body radiated. “It’s also been six years since we moved out of Shit Park.” 

Ike sighed thankfully. “It was the best decision we’ve ever made.” 

The two men had shared a quaint apartment up in Denver ever since breaking free from the chains that their hometown had on everyone but themselves. They had no feeling of nationalism towards the jerkwater town and felt much freer to be themselves and be happy elsewhere. Of course, they kept in touch with the keep worth talking to, but other than that, they had completely cut off that part of their past and completely emerged themselves in each other and their plans for the future. 

Firkle was on his way to becoming a head mortician and gaining ownership of a local funeral home. Ike was finishing up college, where his major was international communications and his goal was to begin a journalism career. 

Firkle leaned up to press a linger kiss to his husband’s stubbly cheek. He lifted his hand to rub the other side of his face and comment, “You need to shave.” 

“Don’t remind me, mom.” Ike grumbled as he attached his lips to Firkle’s. Even after all those years of pressing endless kisses to the same pair of lips, he never stop receiving that warm, fuzzy feeling in the base of his stomach every time their mouths connects. 

Firkle drew back with a smile, letting their noses touch. “Are we going out for dinner still? I don’t have a preference but going outside is stupid and Chinese delivery sounds really good…” 

Ike hummed. “Somethings telling me that we should cancel our reservations at that fancy French place and have a _Saw_ marathon instead.” 

Firkle sighed happily. “This is why I married you.” 

They shared a laugh and another kiss. After Ike ordered their dinner, he pulled the duvet off their shared bed and wrapped it around himself in Firkle. He dragged the still smaller man into his embrace as Firkle went to Netflix on their decent sized television screen. He turned on the first Saw before bundling up in the covers and resting his head on Ike’s chest. He inhaled his scent and grinned widely, overwhelmed with love and adoration for him. “This is a pretty decent anniversary.” 

Ike gasped mockingly, “Oh, boy, decent? You mean it’s above moderate?” 

Firkle rolled his eyes. “Not with that attitude. You’re down to a C minus now.” 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Ike promised. He lifted Firkle’s face towards his and grinned down at his gorgeous little husband. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Ike pressed their lips together and kissed him passionately, pulling a moan from the back of Firkle’s throat as his hand traveled sensually down his waist. The movie was disregarded as they found their own source of entertainment from one another. They barely separated long enough to obtain their faux foreign food, and devoured it quite quickly to make time for other activities. 

Despite the rough goes through life, the shitty town they were born and raised in, and the low quality of life in general, the two men were able to find a happiness in one another that trumped all else. Firkle did not even care about the world for of conformist wannabes when he was pressed against Ike. 


End file.
